Silver
by LadyLizaElliott
Summary: [Sweeney Todd Revival] Now that business is better than ever, nothing seems to come in the way of Sweeney and Nellie's success. And, in a certain light, she could almost be pretty. [Completed, for now]
1. Fleet Street

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own the characters involved in the musical Sweeney Todd, I only write as a fan and future director in that these characters inspired me greatly. My 'Lovett' and 'Sweeney' are primarily based off of the fantastic portrayals as given by the cast in the 2005 Broadway revival: Patti Lupone and Michael Cerveris. If when you read, you expect to see the action of the play, think again, there is more. Enjoy!

Prologue:

Fleet St. A pair of yellow eyes glanced upon the sign. With its four legs, the black cat sauntered across the pavement, every step designated and predicted. The cat leaned against the brick façade before the entrance to the Barber shop. There seemed to be not a breath of wind in the night air, nor a light from the moon, which stood in hiding from the deluge of suspicion as warned by the stars around it. The cat tiptoed its way towards the tall ash cans behind the shop, where it could almost always smell remnants of crusted, overcooked or raw meat pies. Only nowadays, this meat was more sumptuous and savory than any other meat the cat had fondled deeply with its tongue. The cat set its blistered paws upon the can, scratching the tin. With little effort, it found itself atop the grey tower, staring down below like a god staring into a deep sea. Behind the cat, and only slightly beyond its reach, stood the crooked window leading into the back room, where the smell was always the strongest. The cat hoisted up to the ledge, and in squeezing tight beneath the open vent, fell onto a bag of flour and made its way towards the table.

A single candle remained lit with oil on the corner of the table. Amongst the piles of dough and flour were odd objects, long thin knives, sheers and a razor. Abandoned it seemed, a mess unlikely to be ignored by a shopkeeper if work was to be continued in the morning.

It was only then the cat heard a faint sound of mortals in the room above. Not just one voice, but two it seemed. A man…a woman. Perhaps the barber and the baker. The cat leapt atop the chair leading to the table, staring up the staircase leading above. Sounds from above, soft sounds, like whispering or mumbling.

The cat stood close to the flaming candle, staring into the mesmerizing flicker with all of the attention of a convict staring at a guillotine. It took a step too close, grazing its back leg against the candlestick. The candlestick tumbled to the floor, pouring the oil onto a bag of flour. The cat's back arched high and a tingling hiss emitted from between its yellow teeth.

Nellie Lovett's eyes closed and her thighs tightened around the barbers legs. She felt his teeth in her neck, pinching her skin, thrilling her more than she ever expected. Than again, it was him. _Him_: Benjamin Barker, in her arms and not in the long dead Lucy's. Benjamin Barker or Sweeney Todd, whatever he was to the world. As much as it brought her closer, Nellie winced as the barber's cold hands paced across her body. Nellie lied back, fearing that one budge would break his focus. The scars were there, of course, lines across his body from God knows what, whatever it was they made him do in Australia. She traced them with her fingertips, biting her tongue hard. Sweeney lifted his head, breathing deeply.

_What is it, love? _She whispered.

_Don't you smell that? _He replied, lifting himself from her breast. She too breathed deep, but could smell nothing but the scent of gin and coriander on his breath. Ignoring his whims, Nellie pulled him back to her hips.

_No, I hear something!_ Sweeney said, pushing Nellie away and sending her leaning off the side of the bed. He did hear it now, louder than before. Flames, like in his dreams, loud and trembling. The door was warm. He pushed the door open.

Nellie screamed as smoke enveloped the barber as he ran into the kitchen. Sweeney made way across the kitchen, into the front of the shop, running towards the water basin in the front, where Nellie often served customers ale or water according to their wish. He hoisted one of her mixing bowls onto his arm and filled it quickly. Nellie emerged, sputtering for air. The bowl got passed and they ran in pursuit of the fire.

The black cat cowered in the corner, slowly searing to ashes in the burning flour.


	2. Ashes

The place smelled of burnt wood. Had they discovered the fire any later it would have climbed the roof and into Mr. Todd's parlor. The wall only turned black in the corner, where the bags of flour and burlap were stored for her use or disuse. Mrs. Lovett had always meant to clean that old corner out, especially now that business was back and having a clean environment was always a necessity. Nellie stood back, letting Mr. Todd shuffle through the remains, seeing if there was anything amongst the pile undamaged. As Sweeney caught his breath, Nellie ran to the window and pushed it open with a loud screech. Bits of paint chipped off the edge and fell into her eyes as she dropped her arms and turned to him. She closed her robe and set a strand of her curly red hair behind her ear. Sweeney moved towards the singed corner, his eye fixed upon something.

"Don't bother dear," She said under her breath.

"Look." He replied, lifting up a dismembered corpse of a burned animal. He held it up to Nellie, her face twitching, making those lines on her cheeks sink. It was bigger than a rat. Sweeney took it in both hands, pushing through the blackened corpse with his fingertips, coming across the jaw bone, the yellow teeth. He removed his fingers and wiped the blood across his nightshirt.

"Nothing but a desperate alley cat," He said. "Must have come into the shop through that window." Stepping closer to Nellie and moving the tiny corpse on the cutting board. They stood silent, staring, somehow comparing the corpse of a cat to their nightly dissections.

"You'll have a new flavor in the shop tomorrow."

"Don't be silly, Mr. T, we've still got two bodies left down below." She added, "Not to mention we still haven't cleaned up this mess up 'ere."

"Now whose fault is that?" He said, creeping up to her and opening the closure of her robe just enough to touch her. She shuddered; thinking that no matter what she did his hands will always be cold.

"It was your idea wasn't it?" Nellie teased, thinking back and forgetting the fact that her pie shop still smoldered, but the fire in the pie shop could never compare to her own; which could not be extinguished by any power. Just as she thought him ready to continue, he receded from her arms, heading back towards the stairs. Nellie turned, he was staring at the charred corner, searching through the ashes. She could never grow weary of looking at his eyes, the way they stared, so concentrated, and so focused, over nothing it seemed. She had never known Benjamin Barker to look at the world with eyes like that. All he saw then was his little wife barely seeing the door leading out of his shop, or the entrance to her pie shop. If she had asked him before, yes, those fifteen years before, if he had even recalled her first name he would have shrugged, walked away and gone back upstairs to his Lucy. Not that he calls her Nellie now, but she was close. So close to getting him to call her name but the smoke of real fire soaked his. Nellie looked at the remains of the cat and began stroking the remaining fur patches with her fingertips, all the while waiting. Sweeney came up behind her, taking her waist in his hands.

"Someday, burning down this old shop may not be a bad idea." He whispered.


	3. Discomfort

Mr. Todd found it an inconvenience to sleep that night. He knew he and Mrs. Lovett would have to find some way of repairing the wall below his shop. Thankfully there was no structural damage, but it would still cost a pretty penny nevertheless to make things clean again. He sat at the foot of the bed, staring towards the floor. His eyes followed the grain of the boards under his feet, thinking them to resemble millions of roads stretching across a barren landscape; means of escape, perhaps, though only physical. He wasn't ready for that kind of escape. He had only come in contact once with that pious vulture since his return. Things had not gone as he expected.

He stood up, boards screeching below his feet. He looked back at Mrs. Lovett. _Like stone_, he thought to himself, _how she sleeps_. He could moan loud enough to rouse the demons from Hell and still she would not rise. Not like _her_. Not like Lucy.

Footsteps, that's all it took. A light touch on her shoulder or her neck. Her blue eyes would open, first with trepidation, then with gentility. Then he would stay still; staring. That would be all. They would just stare at each other, gazing into each others eyes; that _unmentionable_ emotion passing between their souls. And how she slept, Sweeney recalled. Whispers were louder than the quiet music of her breathing. Her head of gold curls strewn across the pillow in an arrangement as flawless as rays of sun across the clouds. Her limbs always seemed weightless on the soft down. So soft…

Of course what he felt for Lucy, that deep affection he felt _was_ mentionable now, but not without pain. Not without a fierce crack of fury and an inhalation of sorrow deep enough to fill the immense void in his heart.

Sweeney walked slowly towards the side of the bed.. He found Mrs. Lovett there as usual, lying on her side with her hair half covering her face. One arm slung off the side, the other nestled under her chin. Nellie Lovett broke all precedents for sleeping in positions that seemed to derive discomfort for normal humanity. And for himself more often than her, it seemed. Too often he had been interrupted from his thoughts from a tug on his sheets, or a leg tossed across his like a wet rag. Worse still were those moments before sleep, when she would decide either to lay back in exhaustion or put one of her greasy hands between his thighs. But he could never pry away. He felt it useless to waste his energy resisting, even after his so called business partnership with woman downstairs had gone far beyond the boundaries expected. It may have been that lying with Nellie was the only means of escape available to him. Perhaps if he hadn't taken her to bed that first night then he would no longer be so disturbed during his rest the many weeks after. Maybe then he could start his workdays earlier. Who knows, maybe the Judge prefers a nice, early morning shave.


	4. Unhinged

Despite how heavily Nellie Lovett slept, she always seemed to be the first one rise. Morning may have been the only time during the day when she looked upon the world kindly. She always lingered for a few minutes, stroking Mr. Todd's cheeks with the backs of her fingers. It was softer than any skin she had ever known before. Less often, she would tempt him to remain. But Sweeney always pushed her away, insisting that she open up shop else she would have more work when he received customers.

Always she started by looking in the mirror. Peering into the void of the glass she always wondered if perhaps, one day, some truth would be revealed. Not this morning, not today. She looked in the mirror and all she saw was impatience. But it wasn't written across her face, but buried deep in her eyes. Sometimes, if she kept a candle by her mirror at night, the light could make orbs in the pupils of her eyes and cast gold circles in the mirror that resembled fire. Fire in her eyes. That was the idea; even if it was just an illusion. Even if it wasn't an illusion, or Nellie could manage to convince herself it was, it continued to her hair. If it was one thing she liked about her person it was her hair, everything else did not live up to her expectations. So often she used to catch Albert staring at it, between times when he wasn't too furious or drunk to even notice her presence. She's not young anymore, it's true, but now every time she let down her hair in front of Mr. Todd she felt like a girl again; tempting the fire in his soul to emerge from across the room.

Nellie wandered down to her shop, shuffling her skirts along the stairs to hear their swish as she moved. She approached the counter and found the remains of the cat on her cutting board.

"You poor thing…" She whispered, lifting a half burned paw with her fingers. She tilted her head to get a closer look. "Life's unfair, ain't it not? Fish gotta swim, that's what they say isn't it?" She chuckled to herself as she lifted up the tiny corpse and placed it in the corner of the oven. Nellie lifted a match and struck the tip against the wall. A spark ignited and she held it straight as the gray smoke disappeared, leaving nothing but an undisturbed, steady flame.

"You'll not want that smell from the oven during the day, Mrs. Lovett" A voice said from behind. Nellie turned and there he was. Mr. Todd had awakened from his sleep, his silver eyes drowsy with fatigue. She smiled from the side of her mouth subtly.

"Well, look who's up dearie." Nellie said. She lifted the match and puffed out the flame with one breath, keeping her eyes on him as she tossed it to the floor. Sweeney pushed a chair out from under the table and sat down with his elbows in the flour. Nellie sauntered up to him, putting her hands on his shoulder and closing her fingers around them.

"What are we going to do about this wall?" She said, leaning her head close to his ear. "Can't keep it charred like this, can we?"

"That wouldn't be practical, Mrs. Lovett." He said coolly. "I'll take a look this morning before I open the parlor."

"I could help, you know." She whispered. "We can close shop for today, I'm sure you'll be wanting some time off, and if this becomes a problem how can we keep the shop up?"

"Have you roused Toby?" Sweeney replied.

True, it hadn't even occurred to Nellie that Tobias could still be asleep upstairs. He didn't even wake when the smoke came up the stairs. He came downstairs after Mr. Todd went back to sleep. The poor boy looked so pale Nellie brought him back upstairs humming a lullaby under her breath, patting his head in the most affectionate way she could think of. This was uncomforting for her. She had tried to tell Mr. Todd about the boy's strange quirks, but he would have none of it. Nellie never had that kind of attention lavished upon her, loving affection that was born out of gratitude. Not even her husband had ever been so unhinged, so devoted to her.


	5. Quirks

Nellie made her way up the stairs to his room. She always wondered why they had put him in that room, the secret 'shaft' having been built just beneath his floor, surely if she stood up there when Todd hit the floor, the sound would carry below his room before falling down to the bake house. Toby was curled up in his bed and in his hands, a blood red muffler.

"Wake up dearie, 'nother day's work ahead of us." She said, sitting down on the bed and putting a hand on his shoulder. His eyes opened, startled and clinging to the red scarf.

"Oh it's you; mum…I thought it was _him._"

"Come on now, love." She said, standing, but not before Toby caught her skirts and pulled her back towards the bed. She made a muffled sound as she lost her balance and fell back. Toby moved so quickly she barely grazed his legs as she fell. Toby kneeled over her, staring into her brown eyes and her red hair tousled over the blankets.

"I 'ad a dream last night, just before I smelled the smoke coming up," He continued, "about him."

"Come on now love, why would you be scared of Mr. Todd? He ain't done nothing to harm you has he?" She paused. "I told him to treat you kindly." Nellie moved to sit up on the bed, rearranging her ruffled skirts. She looked at Toby's face; everything about him seemed to radiate simplicity; clear and simple minded with boyish eyes that stared danger in the face with white eyes.

"He was in the bake house calling for ya, you came up and never came back down! I was yelling for you and you wouldn't come!" Toby cried, latching onto her arm. Nellie flinched at first, trying to pull her arm away from the boy but found it useless. Nellie put her hand on his head, stroking his hair just as she had done the night before.

"Don't you worry, nothing's gonna harm you dear." Nellie took his face in her hands. Toby's face turned red, smiling. "I'm here to protect you aren't I?" She said. Just as she had dropped her hands, Toby caught view of her neck, just as she turned slightly to stand. There was another strange mark, just below her ear.

"What's that?" Toby cried, catching her face in his hands, one hand caught in her hair. Nellie pulled his hands away instinctively.

"_What now,_ love?" She said angrily, there was only so much speculation she could bear. Nellie stood and turned towards Toby, finding more power if she held her head higher than his. He stared at her. Nellie had to look a second time, his eyes were bubbling with tears. Toby followed her, standing close enough he could grasp her shoulders.

"Just tell me you're alright, that…that _he's_ treating you like he should." His voice trembled. Nellie pushed his hands off her shoulders and held them out in front of her.

"I'm fine dear." She said solemnly. "I can take care of meself, boy. And if it's anyone who can take care of Mr. Todd, it's me. You make like I ought to be afraid of him."

_"I don't trust him!"_ He cried out. Nellie pushed him back onto the bed and covered his mouth, his voice being loud enough to reach the shop below. She stood firm over him and kept her hands over his mouth.

"Now you listen here, dear." Nellie paused. "Stop making such a fuss over whether or not you ought to trust Mr. Todd, he's brought you here and you're safe now and that's no way to pay 'im back for his gratitude!" She snarled. Nellie stopped herself for a moment, knowing she had never taken such an angry tone with Toby before.

"You must know I don't want to have to talk to you like this…" She paused, sitting down beside him and holding his head to her breast. She coddled his head in her hands while his arms wrapped around her waist. "Now promise me you'll stop all this foolish chatter."

Toby sat still, absorbed in her arms, thinking that he would never desire to be anywhere else. Nellie sat still and leaned in her head.

"Now, come on dear. We've got work to do."


	6. Displeasure

The tonsorial parlor remained closed for the afternoon, much to Mr. Todd's dismay. Once he started working away at the burned wall it soon became apparent that more was needed than just a touch of paint. Grudgingly, he went to Mrs. Lovett and acquired some funds and warned her to try to ration sales, there would not be an afternoon surge to tie her customers over for the night. He left with his coat collar turned up to face the cool winds. An early autumn was turning into an early winter. He had enjoyed the snow, covering the world with white. Snow was pure, untouched. Ever since his return he longed for the morning when he would rise and look out the window to see snow on his windowsill.

Sweeney cast his silver eyes onto the end of the street. Just a few blocks from Fleet Street was a port by the river where building materials were kept, stored, or brought out to sea. He thought of the Bountiful. Holding his coat closed with his hands he recalled the smell of the sea, the raging tides bursting onto the ship's side, the swells tipping the ship and sending his legs stumbling. He turned the corner, facing the river now as he walked. He passed a low sign over the street, a lawyer's office reading Benjamin and Sons. _Benjamin_, he cringed at the very letters forming the word. Though not referring to him, the sight of it stirred his consciousness and made him quicken his pace.

As he walked there were so many things to think of…the Judge, the Beadle, _when would he get them_? How? What conflicts could surface by taking such actions, actions that could hinder his progress if one should notice the departure of the other. Of course this problem was resolved with the solution of the 'pies'. No one could trace it. Plain and simple brilliance; practical and appropriate.

There was always the subject of Mrs. Lovett to think about. He still didn't know what exactly he would do with her when the day comes that the Judge should return to his part. _He had the Judge, he had him_. So close to getting his bare throat within his hands. As he left his parlor that day, those vile, heinous words that escaped the Judge's lips rang throughout Sweeney's head; filling it with an inexplicable rage he had never before felt. Hearing his name in that pitied manner, being smashed down to such a lowly toad after rising so high from the success of his business; he needed to possess. Something, anything. And there she was, Mrs. Lovett, standing at the bottom of the stairs staring up into the shop. He looked at her, staring her down as he descended the steps. She hesitated at first, never knowing how to read his glances. It was all too quickly that he pushed her into the counter, one hand on her throat while he screamed out in frustration, staring up to the ceiling as if the Judge were still up there waiting in his chair. Mrs. Lovett screamed too, fear creeping into her fingertips as she tried pushing him away, beckoning him to not take out such angers on her. She managed to grasp his face in her hands and scream into his face. _What are we going to do about Pirelli? She cried. Forget about the bloody Judge for a moment! _

_Wait, that's easy for you to say! You told me to wait, now look! He scowled, sifting his fingers through her hair, tangling it. Mrs. Lovett managed to lift a knee high enough to strike the inside of his thigh. Cringing, Todd dropped his arms, pulling out Mrs. Lovett's hairpins as his hands dropped from her head. He leaned over, one hand on the counter keeping him standing. Mrs. Lovett took the chance to catch her breath, staring across to the wall with one hand on her throat. Wait…she whispered. Don't lose your 'opes of getting the Judge. As for Pirelli, that poor fellow, such a nice plump frame he had…seems a downright shame to waste it. _

_After that, it was clear he would have her for different reasons than to possess her from his own degradation. Forgetting such pain brought greater ecstasy upon them both. The setting remained unchanged, their intense amusement and anticipation giving them no time to retreat to more private settings. The memories were now fragments, only pieces of a full puzzle which resulted in their success; a hand on his thigh, her skirts sprawled across the counter, her clumsy fingers twisting handfuls of his hair, the sounds. Nothing much else could be recalled. _

Even so, they weren't memories Sweeney Todd considered proud.


	7. Protection

Even from behind the trash barrels in the alley, the beggar woman could hear all of the sounds coming from the back room of that vile woman's pie shop. She stayed there for many hours, hearing the calls of _'Toby!'_ or _'More Hot Pies!_' come from the front of shop. She could always hear things, clanging of trash cans as the alley cats dashed across her legs, her angry breaths as she caught a glimpse of Nellie Lovett through the window. Only once had she ever bothered to open the window, the beggar woman did, and when she did she looked in. She knew that meat can leave some bloodstains on a counter, but not to the amount that was covering her table. The beggar woman had always tried to get a free pie out of swindling, and had succeeded at such other pie shops, Mooney's shop included. But that devil woman, Mrs. Lovett, she had no heart. She had no consideration for her poor person. In her ruthless fight to keep her out of her shop, the beggar woman had intensified her hatred towards her. And it seemed that now, more than ever, she hated her, _knowing_ that now she was getting_ her_ muff split by the barber. And unknowingly, she hated it. She hated the idea. But until the day would come that she found her jealous revenge on Nellie Lovett, the beggar woman stood outside of the pie shop window; always watching, always listening.

_Beware of her! She's a wicked one she is!_

All of her suspicions of that Lovett woman were made worse when the Vesper's bell rung at night. Always, when the bell rang, smoke would creep up from the bake house chimney and cloud over Fleet Street as quickly as a plague. A horrible, pungent smell. The kind of smell that should wake people from their slumbers, or make fair women vomit after their dinners. The kind of quiet death that God should send down from the clouds to punish the evildoers. No one else spoke of it until the beggar woman had decided to speak for herself. In the middle of night, and no other time, she ran up and down the street in front of the pie shop, screaming and flailing her skirts up to her face to cover her nose from the smell. She had ran to the Beadle's house, seven blocks away at the fancier district, only to be shunned and dragged away by constables as she threw pebbles at the Beadle's window, screaming for him to wake and put an end to the woman's business.

_Witch! Witch!_

Behind all of this energy, this anger and emotion spewing out from the Beggar woman in violent fits and rages, was a deep sense of protection. _For who?_ There was no one in the world that cared for the woman, why should she care for anyone in return? But there was _something_, something about that barber that made her feel she must protect him from that woman. She felt for sure that she knew him from somewhere, but from where, God only knows.

_Don't I know you, mister?_


End file.
